Reflections of Forgiveness
by clair beaubien
Summary: Tag scene to 4.22. The first night home Sam can't sleep and wanders Bobby's salvage yard.


_Darkness._

Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd seen sunlight. Not at least since before Dean and Bobby put him in the panic room. He knew he _had_ seen sunlight since then, he'd spent more time on the road than off of it these past few days and some of it had to have been in sunlight.

He just couldn't remember seeing it.

Even now he was prowling Bobby's yard in the darkness. It was their first night back after he killed Lilith and he couldn't sleep. He didn't know what time it was, he only knew that nobody else was awake and he couldn't sleep and he couldn't sit still and the only place to go was any place else.

The air was heavy with moisture; more than dew, less than rain, it hung like a colloidal mixture, covering car doors and car windows, slicking the weeds and chilling Sam in his jeans and bare feet and t-shirt.

Out beyond the view from the windows of the house, Sam stopped at a car with windows so thick with condensation it rolled down in rivulets like tears, and it seemed to Sam as though the whole world, everything natural and man-made, was crying.

Everything but him.

He hadn't cried since Dean died. Not once. Tears wouldn't have helped then and they sure weren't going to help now. Tears wouldn't stop the Apocalypse, they wouldn't defeat the evil Sam had let loose on the world. They wouldn't get Dean to forgive him and even if they did, Sam didn't deserve forgiveness. Especially not from Dean.

With one movement, Sam wiped the window clear of the dew and he saw himself reflected in the dark glass. Anger looked back at him out of those dark eyes, anger, despair, guilt, accusations, blame, defeat, madness even.

But no forgiveness.

He would never see forgiveness again.

The condensation built up again and Sam wiped it away again and saw Jessica reflected back at him from the glass. She was smiling just like Sam remembered. Beautiful just like he remembered. He tried to remember what her touch felt like, warm and soft, but all he felt was the damp chill. Jess was dead because of him, he would never forget that.

Sam watched her reflection until the dew filled the window again. He wiped it again and it was Dad who looked back at him. He was smiling like Sam wanted to remember but never let himself remember. It was Dad smiling at Sam because he was proud of him, because he was happy to be with him, because maybe he loved him.

Sam closed his eyes to block out the reflection and the memories. If Dad was here now, he sure wouldn't be smiling. He wouldn't be happy, he wouldn't be proud. And if he still loved Sam, it would be only enough to let him go. To kill him. If Dad was still here, he would've killed Sam before Sam killed Lilith.

So it was too bad Dad wasn't here.

Another swipe of the condensation and Sam saw Mom reflected back at him. Not how she looked in his hallucination, not how she looked in the few photographs they still had of her. Younger than that. Early twenties maybe. She was pretty, but Sam had always known that. Pretty and strong and smart.

In his hallucination, Mom said she was proud of Sam for going after Lilith. So that had to mean really that she would've been disappointed in him. She'd be horrified at the choices he made. She'd think he'd made her death meaningless. She'd regret that she tried to save him all those years ago.

Sam let the window fog up again.

He thought maybe he should go back to the house. Or at least away from this car. He knew who he'd see next. If he cleared that window one more time, he knew he'd see Dean.

That would be the hardest to bear.

But did Sam think he deserved anything easy?

He used his forearm to wipe the whole window and just like he thought, there was Dean staring back at him. Not smiling, not happy, not anything that would make Sam feel better. Not that. Never again.

Dean hadn't been talking much these past couple of days. Nothing more than necessary. At the one diner they stopped at between Maryland and Bobby's, Dean had ordered breakfast for Sam. Then when Sam didn't eat it, he'd nudged the glass of orange juice closer to him, and tapped the edge of his plate. But he didn't say anything.

When Sam still didn't eat, Dean left the booth and came back with a bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. And Sam ate that because it was the only food that didn't make him sick just to think about.

The window clouded and Sam wiped it clear again and it still bore Dean's reflection. Still not smiling, more a look of puzzlement. Wondering probably why Sam even dared walk out into the world he had doomed. That's what Sam was wondering.

Even after the ice cream breakfast, conversation between them was limited to mostly single words and light touches, Dean getting Sam's attention, guiding him, urging him with a hand on his arm or shoulder or back. No angry words or angry gestures. Just patience and gentleness and concern.

Dean's reflection blurred and Sam wiped his eyes and not the window.

On the drive back to Bobby's, Sam had spent a lot of time remembering how Dean looked, fresh out of hell, the expression on his face, standing in the doorway of that crappy motel in Pontiac, when he first saw Sam. He looked happy and relieved and grateful to see Sam. _ To see Sam._ And Sam had tried to kill him.

Now it turned out that Sam had been unintentionally trying to kill Dean ever since then with his zeal to kill Lilith at all cost. Depending on how the war turned out now, Sam might still be responsible for Dean's death.

Dean could never be grateful to see Sam again.

Sam wiped his eyes again and the car window. Time to turn the page.

The reflection was still Dean.

He cleared the window again.

And again.

It was still Dean.

It was still Dean.

_It was still Dean_.

Suddenly realizing what he was seeing, Sam closed his eyes and turned his head. He couldn't see the reflection but he heard Dean walk closer and felt a jacket unfold around his shoulders.

"Time to come in now." Dean put a light hand on Sam's arm, obviously intending to guide him back to the house and bed, but Sam resisted it. He put his hand on Dean's chest, holding him away.

"Dean - wait."

"Sam, you're standing out here in the freezing dark in your bare feet. I think waiting can wait. C'mon."

"_Wait - please._"

"_What?_" At first Dean sounded impatient. But when Sam stalled on his words, unsure what to say or how to say it, Dean's voice and attitude softened. "Sammy - what is it?" He looked over his shoulder. "What's in the car? What were you looking at?"

Sam looked back at the car window but it was covered in condensation again. He couldn't see the reflections anymore, not of love or blame or loss. All he could see now was Dean standing in front of him.

"What would Mom and Dad think? If they were here? Would they - could they - could they _forgive me?_ Would Jess forgive me? Would she forgive me for what I've become?"

_Do __**you**__ forgive me? _ Was Sam's unasked question.

"Sam -." Dean started, but whatever he was going to say, it seemed like he changed his mind. "They loved you. They _all_ loved you. And you always forgive the people you love." He paused a beat. "_Don't you?_"

Sam heard another question deep inside that one, and it surprised him. What could Dean possibly need Sam's forgiveness for? _Nothing._ But still – if Dean ever did need Sam's forgiveness, he'd have it. No questions asked.

And he'd never given anything to Dean that Dean hadn't given back a hundred times over.

"Yeah. I do." Sam answered him. "I forgive the people I love."

"Me too." Dean said, and there it was. Two words. Two little words and Sam was forgiven. "C'mon now, in the house. Mom and Dad _and _Jess wouldn't forgive me if I let you get pneumonia."

"Okay."

They walked to the door and as Dean reached for the knob, Sam saw their reflections in the glass. Dean met his eyes for just a second and smiled at him. Relieved, happy, grateful. That was what forgiveness looked like.

The end.


End file.
